


heliophobia

by saharadunes



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Fix-It, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Insert, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, quirrel is having a Day. Please be nice to him, you know how it is.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28486365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saharadunes/pseuds/saharadunes
Summary: "What do youmeanthere are no empty vessels?""Imeanjust that, brother.""Well, then, I guess you'll just have to make do!"[or: my take on a human-insert hollow knight fic. this was inevitable]
Relationships: Monomon the Teacher & Quirrel (Hollow Knight), Quirrel (Hollow Knight) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 71





	1. common bug (human)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woah! Hey, who are those guys? Sure they won't turn up again.

They are human. They  _ are _ human. If only the universe could acknowledge this fact.

Everything is dark. No, hold on. Not dark.  _ Empty. _ An almost tangible emptiness. They don’t remember what they were doing last. It wasn’t  _ that _ important, they’re sure, but the comfort of  _ knowing _ is a comfort they are left without. 

They can’t move. Can’t feel the ambience of  _ being _ as they normally do. Were they able to panic, they would. They can’t, though - Seeing as, you know, they don’t  _ exist _ at the moment.

Let’s take it back. It’s morning. Or - is it? Afternoon, maybe? They have a penchant for staying in bed too long to realize the passage of time. A woe we can all relate to, I’m sure.

A game - one you, dear reader, are intimately familiar with. Hours and hours and hours pass by. They kick their legs out. Their small insectoid charge is as relentless as they are.

It ends. Over and over and over (and over again). They die. They  _ triumph. _ No matter how many times they face off against that  _ damned _ Moth, she still leaves their hands shaking around the controller.

Their charge (their Vessel) stands at the top of the Pantheon. They watch as She screams. The screen goes white.

The Light is blinding. It goes beyond the screen - seeps out into the rest of their vision, burns their eyes (their hands are shaking). It _hurts._ _Stop, stop, stop -_

Their thoughts are extinguished in a flash of a Sun they do not know. 

And then it goes dark.

Back to where they are (they  _ aren’t _ ). There… are voices in the emptiness. They aren’t hearing these voices, of course, they are  _ nothing, _ but we have no such limits as existence. This, in hindsight, means perhaps the Emptiness wasn’t so empty after all. Who would have thought?

“Sibling, where did this…  _ thing _ … come from?”

“Hell if I know, brother! Last I heard, She was up to some petty anger-management again.” Another voice responds.

“You think  _ this _ is a result of Her work?” A third voice chimes in.

“Maybe, maybe. I’m just glad we found it before She did. I’ve no idea what She’d do to it!” The second voice replies.

“Well, then, what are we going to… do with it?” The first voice asks.

“Perhaps… it could be Aware of our ward’s plight? Could it assist us?” The third voice suggests

The other two voices chitter, one in excitement, the other in… well. Less-than-excitement.

“I… Maybe. But - have you thought this through, friend? I know you have been… looking, for… something new, a fork in the River, but - we don’t - “

There is a very,  _ very _ familiar rage-infused scream. The voices do  _ not _ flinch, for they have power in their own right, but it is a near thing.

“ - we don’t have the Time for this!”

“Well, brother, make the Time, then!”

“You  _ know _ it doesn’t work like that.”

“Do you have the Space for them?” The third voice interjects.

“I - Maybe? Is the Abyss a valid solution - “ The second voice stutters out.

“ _ No, _ sibling, it’s sealed off for years!” The first voice shuts them down

The scream is louder, approaching.

The third voice again, slightly panicked, “Well - Well, put it  _ somewhere! _ I can make sure its mind is safe, just - "

“I’m going, I’m going! You have my back, brother?”

The scream is almost deafening.

“To the end of Time, sibling.”

There is a pull, and a push on the not-being. The voices - entities? - grab and tighten their hold around their essence for but a moment before - 

“Wait, Space,  _ that vessel isn’t vacant, what are you doing -  _ “

“ _ Too late!” _

And they are forced -  _ tossed, really _ \- into Being once again.

* * *

They awake slowly, foggy.  _ Oh, weird, _ they think,  _ is it raining? _ It is not, in fact, raining. It’s more of an ambient hissing noise, actually. Weird.

They’d go back to the land of sleepy-time if they weren’t in such an utterly uncomfortable position. They sit up and open their eyes.

_ Ah. _

That is. Not what they were expecting to see. They were hunched over, snoozing on a desk of notes in a language they recognize in the barest sense, but do not understand. This is not their room. This is not their  _ house. _

Around them are more desks like the one they’re currently sitting at. They’re odd. A little less uniform then the ones they’re used to.

It’s kind of like a library, if libraries had large tubes of green - acid? Is that _acid?_ _Explains the hissing, I guess._

The most uncomfortable thing about this (dream? Is it a dream?)  _ place _ is the larger-than-life  _ insects _ milling about. Not like any insects they’re used to, but they’d recognize masks like that  _ anywhere. _

_ This has to be a dream. Has to be. Has to be! _ They’re unsure. They move to pinch themself (just like in the movies!), and they - they -

_ That is not their hand. That is a claw. What the shit. Hell. _ Their hand(?), apparently, has transmogrified into some kind of pitch-black  _ stick-hand. It looks like a fucking backscratcher! _ They think, slightly hysteric.

They shuffle out of the chair to head for somewhere more private. Or, well, they  _ try, _ since apparently no one has ever been nice to them, and they’ve been situated with  _ uncooked spaghetti _ for  _ legs. _

They’re off their balance literally and metaphorically as they stumble for one of the smaller doors around the room. Some of the bugs give them weird looks, but that’s to be expected as they’re wobbling about like Bambi in the beginning of _Bambi._ _Look, buddy, how would you fare with a completely unfamiliar center of gravity?_

They manage to find a door and - thank G-d, it really  _ is _ like a library, these are private study rooms. There’s some pillows and tablets left lying around the room. Even more fortunate is that this one is  _ completely empty. _

There’s another one of those tubes filled with acid in this room. They crawl up to it, panic bubbling in their throat, hoping to see their reflection.

Staring back at them is the immediately-recognizable visage of the Teacher’s Assistant.  _ Quirrel. _

They make sure to close the door behind them before allowing themself to  _ freak the fuck out _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehee...... not exactly a twist, was it? hope u all are enjoying though.
> 
> my tumblr is [cutehornet](https://cutehornet.tumblr.com) :pleading;


	2. monomon the teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, who's she? Wonder who that is. Looks pretty, though.

They are most definitely  _ not _ Quirrel, and they are most definitely  _ not fucking doing this. _

In their case, this means curling into a ball on the floor to avoid their problems and maybe cry a little bit and  _ their body is not supposed to do that what the hell. _ Of course. Of course it would follow that a  _ pillbug _ could curl up into a Very Round Object, but  _ G-d. _

They uncurl. It is a very off-putting sensation to know that they have no spine. In the literal sense, of course.

“Really?” They whisper-shout in a voice that is not theirs, not wanting to alert anyone outside the comfort that is the study-room.

They walk around on not-their legs, trying to get the feel for it. It’s an excuse to pace around the room, really. Movement has always calmed them down to some degree. Something about the repetive motion, they think. The effect would probably be better if they didn’t feel like a potato on sticks.

“This is fine, this is  _ fine, _ ” they affirm, fruitlessly, “This is totally fine, you are not Quirrel, you are not a Bug, you are - I - “ They fumble.

_ Their name. _ Fuck. Fuck, how could they forget their own  _ name? _ They pick their brain for what they remember. They have - they have parents, and - and siblings, and pets ( _ were they cats or dogs, G-d, they don’t know - )  _ and they were in school, still a  _ child _ \- 

The bug who is most definitely not Quirrel sits down, grabs a pillow, and begins to cry. 

(will they see their family again? are they going to die? will  _ quirrel _ die? they can feel their memories slipping through their hands like an hourglass - they grip  _ tight _ onto what they have left. they will not forget who they love.)

Time passes. Then more. The Bug-Who-is-Not-a-Bug heaves a breath. In and out. This is supposed to help, right? They remember a loved one telling them to breathe steady. Everything would be alright.

Everything was  _ not _ alright, but -

Inhale -  _ Are we okay? _

Exhale -  _ Yeah. We’ll be alright. _

_ Inhale _ -

The door opens. It opens, and the Bug-Who-is-Most-Definitely-Not-Quirrel is  _ very _ startled by the imposing and near-ethereal figure of Monomon the Teacher.

_ Fucking Monomon the Teacher! Gig’s up before it even started. _

“Quirrel.”

“Yes, Mo- uh. M… Madam?”  _ This is it. She’s got me. _

“Quirrel, I thought we had  _ talked _ about skipping your sleep cycle to research.”

“I - Huh? Yes! Yes. I am. Very… Tired. And sick. I am so ill and sicknessed.”

She fixes them with an unreadable look (Though, to be fair, all looks are unreadable. Everyone is wearing masks. Body language is a dead language.) before making the physical equivalent of an eye-roll.

“Always one for dramatics.” She says, vaguely fond.

“Yuh… Yep! That’s me. Quirrel from… Schools…!” They get up, walk very slowly, carefully, to Monomon’s side. They still stumble. They are extremely thankful they no longer possess ankles.

Monomon gives them another Look. “Let’s get you to your quarters. Wyrm, it sounds like you need to hibernate for a  _ year. _ ”

“Hey! Mon - Madam, don’t give me that! I - I - Some sleep would. Probably do me some good, actually, huh. Huh.”

She wraps one of her tentacles around their hand. It feels less like she’s holding their hand and more like she’s attached one of those kiddie-leashes to prevent them from running off.  _ That’s fair, I guess. _ They’re walking like a 16-year-old’s first venture into the world of stilettos.

Monomon does not initiate small talk. The-Quirrel-Who-is-Not is infinitely thankful for this. (are  _ they _ supposed to make small talk? too bad, they guess! they’re too busy trying not to fall ass-over-teakettle.)

They reach a door. It’s no different from many of the other doors they have encountered in the Archives. Monomon stops, though, so they have to assume it’s their -  _ Quirrel’s _ \- dorm.

“Go to bed. I had better not catch you like that again, Quirrel.”

“Yes! I will. Not. Do that. Time to sleep in the… Room where I sleep. And live, also?” Not-Quirrel responds, glancing at Monomon out of the corner of their eye in a sort of  _ ‘Yes? That’s right? That is what I am supposed to say?’ _

They walk inside and Monomon closes the door behind them.  _ G-d, how bad did they look? _ Wild.

(Unbeknownst to our unwilling hero, Monomon worries. She keeps a keen eye for any hint of orange - of Infection in the Quirrel she sees.)

Quirrel’s room is… Almost exactly what they’d expect, honestly. It’s not especially decorated - looks similar to what they assume it looked like on acquisition. There are, though piles of tablets and - vials of acid? lying in a corner. There’s a little nest-looking space where they imagine a bed would be. There are some trinkets strewn about.

Nothing of note to them, anymore, as the Quirrel-Who-Isn’t collapses into the nest, curls up, and very pointedly does not think about how it feels wrong.

* * *

They wake - They open their eyes. The sound of rain pitter-patters through them - their mind.

They look around. Then at themself - and they really are themself! That’s skin, baby! They can’t tell, but - are they shorter - smaller than they normally are?

This discovery is made less exciting by the fact that they can see floating little mandalas in the air around where they are - where they’re standing.

Their… Dream-realm? Is made up of multiple platforms with running water cascading down into waterfalls - down into nothing.

It’s gorgeous, really. Were they able to see Niagra Falls in their life, they imagine it doesn’t hold a candle to this spectacle. They’re a tad surprised - taken off guard. They’ve never been one for waterfalls - always a little bit too loud.

Sounds of tip-tapping from behind them makes them tense. They turn around slowly, reluctant.

Quirrel - the  _ real _ one, they can tell - is standing there. His stance  _ screams _ thinly veiled anger. They squeak, some emotion or another overtaking all process of speech. Quirrel speaks.

“Now,  _ friend, _ why don’t you tell me exactly  _ what _ you are, and  _ why _ you’re piloting my shell like some kind of incompetent corpse creeper,  _ mm? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again. two in the same day. hello. what is up? have fun :o) This is my tumblr. [@cutehornet](https://cutehornet.tumblr.com)


	3. quirrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi! Hey, I know that guy! Do you?

"No. No thank you. Goodbye.” 

The Quirrel-Who-Isn’t lowers themself to the floor and lies face-down in front of the Quirrel-Who-Is.

“What? Get up, you shoddy excuse for a Nosk.”

“I’m not a Nosk! I hate those mean horses. Don’t slander me like this, Quirrel,” They lament.

If they could see behind his mask, Quirrel’s eyes would have narrowed. (He wonders what a horse is.) He nudges them with a leg. They roll over onto their back, looking thoroughly resigned.

“If this is what the Infection is, I’m _less_ than impressed.”

The human damn-near _recoils_ . “Infection? I’m - I’m not - No! I would _never._ I can respect the aesthetic, but Her methods are _grotesque._ ”

“Sounds like something the Infection would say.”

They sit up, eyebrows furrowed and picking at their bottom lip.

“Dude! I - Look, you gotta believe me when I say that this? This shit? Wasn’t my fault!” They throw their arms up, exasperated, gesturing vaguely, “I don’t know _why_ I’m here!”

“Can’t you - Leave, then? Get out? Give me back my _body?_ ” Quirrel snaps.

Their frustration boils over, “I don’t know _how!_ I’m _stuck_ here, and I don’t know how to fucking _escape! I want to go home!”_

The outburst gives Quirrel pause. He looks the Not-Bug over once more. There are the starts of tears welling in their eyes - from frustration or something else, he can’t say.

(They are _strange,_ he notes. No exoskeleton, but not formless like a Slug or Snail. Perhaps he’ll question them about it later. Always too curious for his own good, Monomon tells him.)

In Quirrel’s silence, the Bug-Who-Isn’t has cooled down a bit. They’re still a tad shaken up, though.

Quirrel sighs in resignation, and moves to perch on the edge of the platform they’re both on, dangling his legs off the side. Gestures for the human to sit near him. They comply, confused, but without comment.

“Well, then,” He says, looking out onto the horizon, “I suppose some introductions are necessary…?” He trails off.

(What does that silence even _mean?_ What’s he - Wait. Hold on. A name, G-d, they need a _name!_ Think, think, uh - )

“Sprite!” They blurt, “Call me - Sprite.” _Dammit._ Dumb name, but there’s no taking it back now, they - _Sprite_ \- supposes.

“Like a spirit? Ha. Fitting,” Quirrel says.

“Yes. Like a funny ghost. That is what I was thinking of.” Sprite, who very much named themself after popular carbonated beverage _Sprite_ , responds.

 _Wyrm,_ they speak like some of the grublings who frequent the Archives. How old even _is_ this… creature? He decides to disregard his musings for the moment. His day has already been so weird. He continues.

“My name is Quirrel. You appear to already be acquainted?”

Sprite very pointedly does not look at him.

“...Yuh. Yes. Kind of,” They admit.

“And you - _attempted_ … to imitate my behavior in the Archives.”

“ _Wait,_ you _saw that?_ ”

“ _Yes_ , I saw that!”

“Oh my G-d, I’m so sorry, dude.”

Sprite can feel their face heating up in embarrassment like an overworked computer. Quirrel is tempted to laugh at their plight. Then Sprite comes to a realization.

“Wait. That - that means you saw me, uh…”

“... You’d be correct. It is very… alienating, to watch your own body have a breakdown.”

“Mm.”

There is another bout of silence. Neither of the Dream-Realm’s current occupants know what, exactly, to do.

Sprite breaks the calm. “You have… uh, questions? I can. I’ll answer what I can. I - You - _We’re_ technically asleep right now, I guess, so I’ve no idea how much time we can. Hang out and shoot the shit, y’know?”

Quirrel does not know.

“Sure? Let me think for a tick.” He carefully picks the most appropriate question for the occasion.

“So. What in Wyrm’s name is your _deal?_ You’re clearly no species I’ve ever heard of, and yet you seem familiar with Hallownest’s monsters. Care to explain?”

Sprite’s face scrunches in confusion, “What are you - The Nosk thing? I, uh. That’s a… Loaded question. Hah, loaded taco question… Man… I. There really isn’t a - a light way to put this, huh? I’m, like, from the future? But only a little?”

“What the fuck?”

“That’s what _I_ said! Anyway, it’s like. Less like I was there, but more of a witness? A witness to a kind of, alternate future. Something that _could_ happen, you know?”

They continue, gesturing at their companion, “I mean, that’s how I recognized you, Quirrel. This isn’t the first time I’ve met.”

Quirrel takes a moment to process.

“Sorry, was that too much? I can - Shit, this was such a bad idea, I - “

“ - Sprite.”

“...yes?”

“ _Why didn’t you lead with that.”_

“ _I didn’t know how to bring it up! It was awkward!_ ”

Quirrel’s mask is shifted up so he can drag a hand down his face in exasperation. He’s past the point of being suspicious of Sprite’s claims. He has had a very, _very_ long day. He resigns himself to more stumbling and inappropriately-timed jokes.

“Well.”

“...well?”

“I think you’d better tell me about this future of yours before you lose the nerve.”

“Okie-Dokie!” And so they do.

It sounds like something out of a tall tale, if this tale were not so acutely applicable to Hallownest. They tell of a ruined kingdom, rife with zombies ( _zombies?_ ) ( _reanimated dead, don’t worry about it_ ) and dangers beyond imagination. They speak of disappearing castles, and of an Infection of the mind. 

They speak of a King.

They speak of His plan.

They speak of His utter _failure._

They speak of masks piled upon masks piled upon masks. Of dead _children, Quirrel, children! It was fucking horrifying!_

They could tell the Scholar of a Knight. It feels like a story from another time, though. What they do say is that there is _always_ a third option - always another way.

“ - Quirrel, I can’t let this stand when I _know_ I can help! I have to - _we_ have to - Can we - Do you want to help me save the world?”

Quirrel is reeling. In any other circumstance, he’d probably need hours, days even, to think over a decision this large. But here? Now?

“I don’t think you need to ask.”

“... is that a yes, or - “

“ _Yes,_ Sprite. Count me in.”

Sprite jumps up and cheers in triumph. ( _Yeah! Fuck yeah! Quirrel has joined the party!_ )

“As long as you at least _try_ not to make a fool of yourself in my shell.” Quirrel teases.

“Hey! I was doing my best!” Sprite laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi 🥰🥰😍🥰😍 im very happy with this chappye. Okay? Your regularly scheduled shenanigans will be back later. We talk like adults here.
> 
> Tumblr is @cutehornet as always :o) I am not embedding it this time. Go find it your self


	4. moth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wait, hold on, i actually don't know who that one is. Let's find out together!

Sprite wakes up like a zombie (Not the orange ones, the ones from popular fiction) which is to say, they fall out of Quirrel’s little bed-nest.

They lie upside down on the bed, half-in, half-out. They’re alerted to another presence by the sound of muffled chuckling from above them.

They look up to see -  _ Huh? Whuh?  _

They shuffle to an upright position to better get a look at the fucking _ transparent, floating figure of Quirrel in front of them. _

Sprite gapes best they can from behind their mask, “Hey, what the fuck? When did  _ this _ happen?”

“You tell  _ me _ . I’ve been like this since  _ you _ arrived. Guess there’s only enough room for one of me in my shell,” Quirrel gripes.

“Jeez. Touchy,” Sprite replies, “Why didn’t I, like… see you before?”

“I may or may not have been hiding. You also looked pretty preoccupied.”

“I see… So very brave of you.”

“ _ You’re _ one to talk.”

Sprite leaves it at that. Takes a moment to Observe. They mull on something a moment before - waving a hand directly through Ghost-Quirrel (The Real One)’s abdomen.

“What was - What was  _ that _ for, Sprite?” Quirrel splutters, having been thoroughly Jostled.

Sprite pauses. ( _ “You shouldn’t have to think on it that long!” _ )

“...Research. Also, it was funny.”

“It was  _ not! _ ”

“Kind of was,” Sprite giggles.

“Oh, shut up.”

Quirrel gives them a moment to get it out of their system. He rolls his eyes. (He wouldn’t admit it’s a tad fond.)

Sprite stands up from the ground, slightly wobbly, and leans on Quirrel’s desk for balance. They speak.

“So, like, I was all caught up in the Ecstasy of Insect, but. I honestly didn’t have a plan for here on out? You got any ideas, king?”

Quirrel sighs, “I figured. … Sprite, we have to tell the Madam - Monomon. She’d - She would know what to do.”

Sprite gives him a nervous look and picks at the chitin on their hands.

“... Okay. Okay. I know there’s - there’s no hope in talking you out of this, but. Are you… sure? Like. If we tell her about all this, she won’t… get us thrown in Brain Jail?” They turn away, “... Would she try to get rid of me to get you back?”

Quirrel blinks, “No! She - Of course not. Like you said, there’s always another option, yes?” He makes this little chittering noise, like he’s in the know about something very funny, “... Monomon’s always had a penchant for strays, anyway. Let’s get going then, mm?”

He pushes Sprite towards the door. To no effect, of course, he’s a ghost, but the sentiment is made clear. ( _ Oh, weird! What if I got tickled by very cold sticks in my back! _ )

Sprite compromises, “You don’t have to tell me twice. But, like, if anything sounds super bad for my well-being, personally, I’m outta there. Okay?”

“I’ll take it!” Quirrel chirps.

* * *

“Why are you walking so slow,” Quirrel complains, absentmindedly gazing around the halls of the Archives.

“If I go any faster, I’ll  _ fall over! _ ” Sprite whisper-shouts, one hand trailing on the wall, the other outstretched for balance.

They are infinitely thankful they have Quirrel to serve as a GPS. They’re pretty sure there aren’t any Death Chambers in the Archives he could be leading them to under their nose.

There are the ambient sounds of chattering voices permeating through the halls. To Quirrel, it’s a comfort. The people he knows are as he remembers them - a small constant, and one he appreciates.

To Sprite, each voice is another chance for them to be found out. They know they must look ridiculous (and what about them lately hasn’t been, honestly?) but they can’t help but let their thoughts spiral - ( _ What would they do to get their friend back? Would it hurt? Oh, this was a bad idea, they should have run away and never come back and left the timeline to its ruin _ \- )

\- Sprite slams into a wall mask-first.

“Quirrel? Are you alright?”

Sprite goes tense as a wire.

Quirrel puts his head in his hands.

Sprite turns around very, very slowly, “Yuh… Yes? I am. Fine.”

In front of them stands a tall, lanky moth. They have a near-excessively fluffy ruff around their neck with two equally fluffy antennae on their head and long, delicate-looking wings with diamond patterns on them.

They’re already up-close, checking Quirrel over.

“I thought I told you to stop pulling all-nighters, Quirrs. One of the little ones told me you nearly collapsed into one of the private rooms!” They chide.

Sprite holds their hands up, placating, “I’m. Totally fine now! You don’t need to worry about me, uh - “

“ _ That’s Argyle, _ ” Quirrel says, muffled from behind his hands.

“ - No need to worry, Argyle! I’m finer than an, uh, a parking ticket.”

Argyle fixes Sprite with a wary look, “If… if you’re sure, Quirrs.”

“I am! For - for sure. I prommy. That’s an - a different way of saying ‘promise’.” Sprite strains.

“ _ Wyrm, we’re doomed, _ ” Quirrel groans.

Argyle steps back, confused. Sprite takes the escape they’re given and scurries off down the halls.

* * *

“Ah! We’re here,” Quirrel says, pointedly ignoring Sprite’s near-palpable anxieties.

Sprite stands in front of the door to Monomon’s office. The door is intricate in design and emblazoned with her mask. They’re... hesitant, to say the least.

Quirrel gives them a Look, “Well? What are you waiting for? Remember,  _ you  _ agreed to this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘M just - stressed. This is either going to go very good or very bad, and my hopes aren’t super high,” Sprite sighs, then pauses, “... So do I, like, knock? Or just walk in? I don’t wanna be, y’know, impolite.”

“Just open the door, Sprite. Come on.”

“I’m - I’m going! Just gotta, uh. Mentally prepare?”

“ _ Do it already! _ ”

“ _Okay!_ ”

And they open the door.

And at the very same moment, Monomon, on the other side, pulls it open.

Sprite was very much not expecting this turn of events. They lose balance and tumble directly into Monomon’s tentacles.

They look at her, sheepish. They can hear Quirrel, half-amused, half-embarrassed in their peripherals.

“... I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something, Ms. Monomon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like 3 days but apologies for the delay. School started up again and it makes me burn out wayyyyy faster lol. Here's your chappey!
> 
> My tumblr is [cutehornet](https://cutehornet.tumblr.com), okay?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Might as well try, right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28754361) by [Ilikealotofstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilikealotofstuff/pseuds/Ilikealotofstuff)




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